


With the Turning of the Sun

by katabasis (aphorat)



Category: Historical RPF, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: 19th Century, Ancient Egypt, Drabble Collection, Gen, Historical References, Maya Civilization, Russian Empire, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 14:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12866259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphorat/pseuds/katabasis
Summary: Sebastian and his masters through the centuries.





	With the Turning of the Sun

_Daughter of Re, Lady of Ta-merit, Twosret of Mut_

The sun, red and bloody, hangs low in the sky as the Pharaoh awaits her death. The executioner—her executioner—waits patiently outside her cell, sharpening a dagger blade with the utmost care. Outwardly he appears as a man, strong and tall with coiled hair and skin like polished obsidian, but his eyes glow red as the sun.

He’s taken her royal husband, her Hurrian chancellor with the oiled beard—and now, as Iah rises up on the horizon, he’ll take her too. But it was worth it, the Pharaoh decides as he draws in close, mouth curved into a too-sharp grin. He’s cleared away the barriers obstructing her rule, and for one brief year there was nothing to hold her back. Her name will live on, gouged into the walls of her tomb, and it's enough.  
  
She accepts her death with the fearlessness of a charioteer, and even as the life spills from her lips she remains tranquil, dignified—a queen until the end. The executioner smiles at that, breathes in the last of her ka, and leaves for her a shabti, fashioned in his likeliness and tucked in the muslin of her red-stained dress.

-  
  
_Vasilisa Melentyeva, the sixth Tsaritsa_

She no longer sees her Devletev with a stake piercing through his snow-white throat. The image has haunted her for years, but now, on her deathbed, she is at peace. The demon that lurks in the corner of her dormitory—horned and hoofed, like in the stories told by her grandmother—reassures her that their contract will be honored without question. Years ago, Vasilisa might have been frightened by the demon, with his dark, shaggy hair and burning red eyes. But that was before Ivan, and now she fears nothing but her own rage, simmering low in her stomach when she thinks of him.

The abbey is quiet this time of night, chill winter air sweeping across the flagstones. But quietly, so faint that it might be excused for rustling book pages, the demon in the shadows begins to laugh.  
  
Vasilisa’s fingers curl around the leather of her prayer rope. She'll play the role of a pious sister until the end, but her smile is sharp as thorns. She’ll have her former husband dead before his time, just like her; consumed by her demons and his own.

-

_Ik’ Skull, the Lady Eveningstar_

She is irrelevant no longer, an affirmation of her prestigious forefathers in Calakmul. Not a concubine, not a prisoner. Now, her son is king. As promised. She needs not worry about the wrinkles lining her face, the stretch marks across her belly—she’s too old to remarry, but the gold and jade and bright feathers she wears make her more beautiful than she had been as a maiden. As promised.  
  
The jaguar who granted her wish comes to her at night, dark spots on darker fur and eyes that glow red, not amber. He sits by her while she sleeps, tail swinging lazily; a sentinel who will not hesitate to sink claws and teeth into those who dare harm her. For it, she has offered her soul, but ten years of happiness on Earth is worth more to Ik’Skull than an eternity among the stars.

-  
  
_Lakshmibai, Rani of Jhansi_

She rides a horse as well as any man, reloading her rifle and steering with her legs. The dark one says she rides like a Mongol and it makes her grin as she fires at a British foot soldier. Arrows and scimitars, that’s what the Mongols had. But Lakshmibai has a gun.

She never planned on living long, but he helps her make the time she has worthwhile. For now, the fort is hers, and when the British retreat she rests behind its walls. The dark one—a demon, but not one of her people’s tradition—keeps her company all the while, and reassures her that although her soul will be devoured, she will be remembered for her courage. Lakshmibai is at peace with it, and contents herself in the knowledge that her courage shall become Jhansi's long after she's gone.

-  
  
_Earl Ciel Phantomhive, the Queen's Watchdog_

It’s been a while since he last served a master; nearly twenty years, if his timekeeping’s correct. Lakshmibai remains a symbol of strength in the East, her courage undeniable to even the English. Now he serves a former enemy, of sorts, but one with determination comparable to hers.  
  
He’s a slip of a boy, the smallest master he's ever served, but he talks big and Sebastian has to wonder if he’s all bark and no bite. It certainly seems that way at times, when Sebastian finds him terror-stricken and trembling in the middle of the night. He’ll stick around long enough to see, he supposes, and if the boy proves uninteresting, well. He’ll cross that bridge if he comes to it.  
  
For now he lights a candle, stands by the window until the boy falls into an uneasy sleep. He may not understand all the nuances of cooking, but this—standing watch—he can do, as he has done for countless others.

**Author's Note:**

> This was just an excuse to wedge Sebastian neatly into some fun historical scenarios, and to play with the way he might have appeared to former masters. He's really old, and has in all likeliness been around for some pretty incredible events throughout history. Most of these women are historical figures (some more mysterious than others), but Vasilisa Melentyeva's existence is more nebulous and she is generally considered a legendary figure, not an actual one.


End file.
